


Tim the Virgin

by fivehorizons



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, capeless au, cop!Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9721007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivehorizons/pseuds/fivehorizons
Summary: Accomplished cop Jason Todd gets mistaken for a stripper when he goes to a house party for a noise complaint.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy JayTim Week VDE! First up: handcuffs, purely because Jason is a cop. Heavily inspired by Jane and Michael's first meeting in the amazing show Jane the Virgin.

Jason walks up to the door, an irritated frown on his face, all hard angles and shadows that it is thanks to his recent lack of sleep. After settling a case at the office yesterday, one he had been slaving over for weeks, he finally has the opportunity to catch up on rest and TV and pizza. Tonight is supposed to be his night off, to fuck around and just be a lazy ass. He has a Wilde paperback on his nightstand to leaf through (he already marked it up during his first readthrough second semester of college), and the pizza menu flipped open on his countertop.

But then Dick begged him to cover his patrol shift, pleading about having to go to some pressing event. Eventually, Jason caved in with the promise of coffee runs and pizzas, none of which he intends to help pay for.

So now he’s on the doorstep of a single-story house in the suburbs, called in on a stupid noise complaint. Well, not so stupid, he realizes.

It’s 11:12, and he can feel the bass thrumming at his feet. And it’s not just the music that pours through the solid wood door. Beyond that is the horrendous treble of many, many people gathered around in a cramp space, shouting and screaming and laughing to create a terrible melody. He smells the familiar potency of liquor, possibly tinged with danker scents he has no intention of investigating.

He hopes no one is underage at the party. All he wants is to inform the host of the complaint, tell them to shut up, and then be on his way. Wasting time on rolling a high school party is not his ideal patrol night.

He curses Dick one more time before knocking on the door.

There’s an answer just as he goes to knock again, and a body comes sliding out from the horde beyond the door, resting against the frame so that his chest nearly brushes against Jason’s.

Jason glances down at the boy, and forgets what he’s supposed to say.

The kid looks like he could be 21, give or take a few years (take, only). Adding confusion to his age is his body, with its lean limbs of alabaster skin and short stature that barely reaches Jason’s shoulder. There are plenty of hints of muscle beneath his crimson shirt, but Jason isn’t going to focus on that.

Because he gets lost in his eyes next. Startling blue, like the ocean after a storm has passed, pure and undiluted.

Eyes heavy-lidded and roving over Jason’s body, cheeks warm and pinked, the kid is definitely drunk. He wears a bedazzled crown askew on top of his dark, mopey locks, encrusted with pink plastic gems that spell out: BIRTHDAY BOY.

Before Jason can say something that he’ll regret, stuff like “happy birthday” along with much more inviting things, he starts with the procedure. “Excuse me, sir, but there’s been a noise complaint from your neighbor.”

The lazy smile on the kid’s face changes.

Into a giddy grin.

He spins from the doorframe, throwing his arms in the air. “You guys got me a stripper!” he cries out to the entire crowd, equal parts shock and glee.

Jason blinks. “Wait, wha—”

Before he can stop it, he’s pulled into the house, and hands are all over him.

“No, no! NO! _NO_!” Every time Jason shouts, his voice grows more frantic, but it’s hard to remain professional when hands are running across him, touching…

“Hey!” he snaps when one hand gets too frisky. With the crowd closing in on him, he can’t find the perpetrator.

He decides to try again. “There is a noise complain—”

“I got a complaint,” says a beautiful blonde. She sets her hands on his chest and tries ripping off his buttons. “Why are your clothes still on?”

“I’m an actual cop,” he barks. “I have a badge.” He tries reaching for it, but it’s already gone.

The same blonde responds, “You’re too hot to be a cop.”

For a moment, Jason thinks of all the people he works with—Dick, Roy, Kori—and barely holds back a smirk. As far as he’s seen, cops are some of the hottest people he knows.

Then he’s brought back to the severity of his situation when something is removed from his waistline. Something _very_ important.

The handsome birthday boy reels away from him, brandishing something solid and black in his hand, long, narrow fingers wrapped around the base.

“It’s like a real gun,” he laughs.

Jason’s stomach drops. “NO!”

The birthday boy points the gun up to the ceiling and pulls the trigger.

A bullet fires, embedding itself into the ceiling above them and making a clean hole through it. Everyone screams, no longer in delight and delirium, and recoils.

“Oh my god,” says the birthday boy, his voice trembling. “It is a real gun.” His eyes flash to Jason, wide and startled. “You’re a real cop.”

Jason leans across the space between them and gently takes his gun from the smaller pair of hands. Without the weapon between his nimble fingers, the boy’s hands tremble.

The birthday boy is clearly shaken by what just happened, and the several people gaping at him and his overall drunkenness aren’t helping the situation.

Jason knows he should just reiterate his warning and be on his way. He’s done his job, and will make sure to leave the gun incident out of his report.

Instead, he finds himself rubbing the birthday boy’s shoulder in soothing circles. “Hey, hey,” he says, voice soft, “it’s okay. No one’s hurt.”

The blonde comes over, patting Tim on his back. “The cop’s right, Tim.”

He slowly nods, the alcohol and comfort already stealing the horrific memory from his mind.

He looks back to Jason, his eyes fluttering in a way that has Jason’s heart missing a beat. Not that he’ll admit that.

“I’m sorry about all that,” says the birthday boy, Tim. “Do you think you could…” He chews his lip. “Do you want to stay?”

This is so against the rules. He’s on patrol for God’s sake. But maybe being swarmed by a bunch of drunk adults is taking a toll on his rationale. Or it could be Tim’s stare, unraveling his mind, stealing all his thoughts with his hopeful smile, so all that Jason is left with is desire.

“Sure,” he finds himself saying.

Before he can hurriedly take it back and rush out the door to the safety of his cop car, Tim’s smile breaks out into something bright enough to burn away any of Jason’s self-doubt.

“Great.” Tim hums as he takes Jason’s hand and drags him deeper into the party, never once looking up the hole he created in his house’s ceiling.

 

**Way, way later that night**

“God, this is so romantic.”

Jason makes no response, just gives Tim a sideways glance.

He doesn’t know how it’s come to this. All he’s aware of is how close Tim sits next to him on the couch. He can feel the smaller man’s heat though they don’t touch, can smell the stale liquor, either coming from his clothes or his lips. Jason is trying very, very hard not to focus on his lips.

So instead he looks to the TV, where a telenovela is reaching the climax of its episode. At least for the romantic storyline.

A man and woman face each other at the bow of a yacht. They wear extravagant clothes that flutter in the wind, and both gaze into the other’s beautiful face.

“I haven’t watched a telenovela in years,” Jason says before he can think better.

Tim gapes at him. “You’ve seen these before?”

He nods. “Got some family from Ensenada. Best carnitas you’ll ever have.”

He shouldn’t have said that, because now Tim is shifting around in his seat on the couch so he faces Jason. His face looms closer than ever, lips testing Jason’s self-control.

With dark eyes, Tim says, “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That you have family in Mexico.” Tim tilts his head towards the building romance scene on the boat. “That you have any idea what they’re saying in the show right now?”

“Fine.” Jason sets his jaw before putting his full focus onto the show. There was no way he’s letting down his tías and tíos back in Ensenada.

While Jason stares only at the screen, Tim never looks away from him, like he’s the best content to ever be made. It’s a shock Jason can think with such a gaze fixated on him, the amused smile playing on the birthday boy’s lips.

“From our first meeting,” Jason repeats in English, “I knew it was you. I just…” he turns from the screen to meet Tim’s heady gaze, “knew.”

He breaks off only to smugly say, “So now it’s snowing on the yacht?”

“Snow makes everything more romantic,” Tim insists. He’s getting closer, closer, his eyes shining with want.

Jason leans forward just as his radio goes off, the crackling static snapping him back from this fantasy.

As the radio goes dead, Jason shifts back. “That means I have to get going,” he says as he lifts from the couch. Roy put in the latest call, so he’ll be sure to give him hell for ruining whatever was about to happen. Maybe it’s all for the better.

Tim follows Jason to the door, escorting him out of the trashed house. The poor guy’s friends are all stuck in drunken dreams, so he’s been abandoned with a lonely clean up job. Jason has been there before, but Tim looks anything but upset when Jason stops in front of the closed door, making the excuse that he doesn’t know the locks to get out.

Tim doesn’t reach for the door. He just stands there, so much shorter and smaller than Jason, but still staring into his eyes, reaching deep into Jason so his heartstrings pull hard enough to ache.

“Thanks for not rolling the party.” Tim’s voice is a whisper.

“Thanks for asking me to say.” Jason speaks just as quietly, as if can keep this moment to last forever if he’s gentle enough.

And gentle is what the moment is.

He means to leave. He means to slam himself into the door if that’s what it takes to shatter the connection that ties him to Tim.

Then Tim takes a step forward. Jason instinctively does the same, and suddenly, they are a breath away from each other. He gravitates closer to Tim, like two forces meant to be brought together. Knowing there is nothing that can break them apart now, Jason lifts his hands to Tim’s face. His touch along Tim’s jaw is gentle, like his skin is really made out of porcelain. However, when Jason feels Tim for the first time, it sends electricity pulsing through his veins, bringing his heartbeat to a pace that belongs with street chases and drug busts.

Lifting Tim’s head up, their noses nuzzling together. Then it’s their lips brushing against each other’s. Not quite a kiss, but a sweet promise of what’s to come.

Tim’s eyes close, his ink black lashes fanning across his bags and, just below that, his pinked cheeks. Jason saves the image to memory before he shuts his own.

Gravity brings them crashing into each other, and their lips meet in a faint kiss that sends sparks flying across Jason’s body. It’s quick, but then there’s another kiss. And another. They grow deeper, and Jason cups Tim’s face, dragging him so he stands flushed against his body, hands at the small of Jason’s back.

And though Tim’s hands are occupied, and so are his lips, Jason finds it odd that there’s something tickling his face.

They both pull back and look up to the source of the additional touches.

They stand below the ceiling Tim fired a gun at. From where the bullet imbedded itself, flakes of drywall fall. Just like snow.

Jason laughs, amazed at how perfect his life is right now. “That,” he says, pointing to the falling bits of white drywall, “is amazing.”

Tim rolls his eyes before curling a hand around Jason’s neck and pulling him into another kiss, one that Jason would gladly take a bullet for to have again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic before last week's episode of Jane the Virgin…I am distraught.


End file.
